Substitutions
by Twisted Love Stories
Summary: Clarice is left alone for much longer than she finds tolerable, but Lecter provides suitable substitutions. -Set about a year post Hannibal novel.


**Substitutions**

**Twisted Love Stories**

**One **Shot****

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><p>A little something I wrote as an experiment. Don't even ask, I've no idea. If you don't like lemons, best not to read ;)<p>

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><p><em>Just two more weeks.<em>

That was what she had been telling herself whenever her mind began to wander to him, which as of late, seemed to be happening a lot.

She was alone today, much like she had been for the past fifteen days, but there was something different now.

Their house was spotless, the dishes were done, the moon was high and Clarice was feeling completely and utterly alone. There was nothing more she could do to prevent the thought of him from entering her mind.

Emitting an exasperated sigh, she glided to the bed that she shared with Hannibal Lecter, MD.

Slipping beneath the covers, she closed her eyes, beckoning for sleep to come swiftly. It did not however, and Clarice was once again left lying wide awake, alone, in a bed too large to be welcoming. She was trapped in a vast ocean of blankets and pillows, the only thoughts spiralling in her brilliant mind were thoughts of him – of them.

"How am I gonna keep this up for another two weeks?" she asked herself, a little shocked at the familiar metallic rasp that tinted her words.

_It's been too long, Hannibal._

She squirmed amidst the sea of fabrics, pushing herself further into the coils of a duvet. The silk sheets were inviting, slipping over her bare skin and encouraging goose bumps to form in its wake.

It felt awkward lying in the middle of the bed, and so she turned, taking the duvet with her, and lying on her side of the bed, legs tucked underneath her. The abundance of pillows were a poor substitute for his body, but they would have to do. They lacked warmth. They lacked life.

She was left with one solid fact as she finally drifted to sleep, somewhere around two AM. He wouldn't phone tonight.

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><p><em>Just ten more days.<em>

She pierced a cherry tomato with her fork, holding it languidly and staring, bored, at the shiny red fruit.

She found no interest in anything around her and housework was becoming tedious. The day before she had been so bored, that to give herself something to do, she had hurled an expensive crystal lamp at the ground and spent the next half hour locating every tiny shard and disposing of it.

Her mind was blank except for occasional thoughts of him, which were always followed swiftly by a wordy scolding.

_Don't go down that path, Clarice. Better just to wait._

Was she being reliant? In a way, yes. Was she being _too_ reliant? Not in regards to that aspect of their relationship. Was she being stubborn by not attempting? Things change; she was no longer the sheltered young woman she had been in her Baltimore asylum days.

_Fuck it, _she thought, frustrated by her failed attempts at dissuasion.

Abandoning her half eaten salad, Clarice raced upstairs to the bedroom. She closed the door behind her and made her way to the nightstand where she tilted her head, puzzled.

_You didn't take your cologne with you?_

She grabbed the bottle, spraying the contents around the room, over the bed and some on herself.

Clarice fumbled open a draw, her brows rising in mock surprise at the sight that presented itself.

_Scented candles __and__ music, Hannibal? Are you perhaps trying to suggest something?_

Her cheeks painted a deep pink as she began rifling through the CD's that Lecter had provided.

_Yiruma, Stevie Wonder, Etta James... you've gotta be kidding me … Michael Buble – now that's more like it._

Clarice popped open the CD case and watched as a folded piece of paper fell out and on to the floor. With a knowing smile, she bent to retrieve it.

_Dearest Clarice,_

_I apologize for my absence whilst you are in such need of me. You have my word that upon my return, you will not be found wanting. Until then, my love, indulge. Everything you need is in the draw of the nightstand. A poor substitute, but the best one could do._

_Ensure that you are not otherwise engaged this upcoming Thursday at eleven PM, as you will be receiving a phone call. _

_I wait with baited breath to hear your voice, Clarice._

_Faithfully yours, _

_Hannibal_

Clarice dropped to the bed, tears forming in her eyes. Tears of sadness, anger, frustration, loss, and impatience together flooded down her cheeks. She sobbed.

Clarice slept that night, her body emotionally drained and readying for the Thursday to come.

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><p><em>Just six more days.<em>

The past couple of nights had all been the same, if not worse. She would admit to herself that there was nothing left to do, reluctantly travel upstairs, undress, slip beneath the covers of an oversized, empty bed, and toss and turn until she was too exhausted to fight anymore.

She had accepted the fact that she needed him in her life, but she hadn't known until recently just how much.

Tonight though, she would receive what she had coveted since that first night spent alone. Tonight, at eleven PM, she would be receiving a phone call.

Almost as if on cue, the shrill ring of the bedside telephone sounded. It rang again and Clarice picked it up.

"Hello?" her voice had the same metallic edge to it as the last time she had spoken, six days ago; something he didn't fail to notice.

"Hello Clarice." The way he said her name still sent shivers up her spine. Letting out a breath, she leant back into the pile of pillows that she had arranged earlier that day.

"Hannibal, how have you been?"

"I ate alphabet soup today."

Clarice allowed a smile to grace her lips as she imagined her husband's face distort at the sight of the cheap canned good. "That bad huh?"

"Do you know what I wasn't prepared for, Clarice?"

"_You_ weren't prepared for something?" she asked, incredulous.

Lecter continued on, "I was never prepared for how much I miss you being by my side. I don't think I ever will be."

Clarice's bottom lip quivered and she quickly blinked away any trace of a tear. "How much longer do you think it'll be until you're done with whatever it is you're doing?"

"I will be home in time for our anniversary in just under a week, my love."

She swallowed any sadness that might have been plaguing her voice before she spoke, "Good."

"Are you sure you don't want me to tell you…"

"I don't want to know. Whatever it is, it's your thing. Like you said, you have to do this on your own, without my influence." She paused to hear him breathing on the end of the line. The pillows on which she lay atop weren't quite as lifeless in those moments.

"And how are you, Clarice?"

"Not too bad. I've been watching Doctor Phil. I agree with you, he's a pompous ass."

Hannibal laughed heartily and Clarice's smile widened. He had a beautiful laugh.

"I miss you."

"Mmm. Have you been relaxing?"

She sighed, directing her gaze to the ceiling. As she conjured a suitable reply, she envisioned Hannibal's glistening body above hers, strands of sleek black hair sweeping across his forehead as he rocked.

"Uhh," She closed her eyes in an attempt to rid of the thoughts. "No."

"Clarice…" he hummed.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me my love, but that to me sounded suspiciously like a moan. Would you mind telling me what it is you're doing? Perhaps I can offer assistance…"

Clarice wriggled beneath the single sheet, smiling as the material flowed over her bare form. "Simply imagining, Hannibal… I'm just imagining."

A growl began deep within his throat, tearing through his lips along with two softly spoken words, "Tell me."

She swallowed hard, finding her words. "Where do I start?"

"I want to see you, Clarice."

"I'm, uh, underneath the cobalt blue silk sheet."

"Pyjamas?"

"No."

He hummed appreciatively into the phone's receiver.

"How are you positioned, Clarice?"

She closed her eyes, her stomach muscles twitching madly. Tightness expanded across her chest as she formed the words with her mouth. "On my back, propped up by some pillows that fail to resemble you in any way, shape or form… They smell like you though."

"Ah, so you found my little gift basket. Tell me Clarice, have you used it?"

"No."

Silence.

"I… can't. It's not something I've practiced…"

"You _fear_."

"I what?"

"You are not afraid, Clarice, but you do fear."

She remained silent, considering.

"Is it the thought that you will not achieve completion yourself, and thus be perceived as dependant that provides this fear?"

"It's not a thought, Hannibal."

_She chose to answer differently. Does she see the implications in their entirety? No._

"I see. So you have attempted."

"Not for a while, no."

"Face your fears, my love. Until you do, you remain in chains. Never underestimate your courage. You are a warrior - _my_ warrior. Be positive in your approach. If necessary, take it in stages. Often fear is out-dated, or based on a misunderstanding or misapprehension. Once you break the spell, you are free."

Her answer was but an airy breath, escaping her lips. Whether she had intended for him to hear it or not would remain unseen. "Help me…"

On the other side of the world, Hannibal Lecter let his eyes fall shut, the image of his beautiful wife lying on her back, legs parted, hand travelling lower over her abdomen, her face contorted with desire - _for him_ - was almost too much for even his ironclad control.

"There is nothing in this world that would please me more. The pillows will have to do for now. I'll be home soon." he assured. "But for now, you must be taken care of. Tell me what you see."

She closed her eyes tighter, her free hand fanning and sliding slowly down her stomach. "You, Hannibal. The same as in my dreams. You're above me… swaying… your hair's a mess."

"And you, Clarice?"

"My legs around your waist, pulling you in…"

Lecter revisited the thought of Clarice's good hard ankles locked around his body, being irretrievably and completely enveloped by her.

Hannibal's breathing shallowed as he fought for control over his own automatic responses.

"Take your hand, Clarice, and close your eyes. That is my hand, and it is all yours."

"Ahuh."

"I want you to move your hand down, over your stomach. Use the tips of your fingers, Clarice. Do you feel me? That's me - my hand - touching you. Do you feel it?"

"Mmm, yes."

"Lower now, follow me, my hand is coming lower. Are you ready?"

Clarice's hand trailed lower, brushing ever so slightly against her now hypersensitive clitoris. She gasped, imagining Hannibal positioned between her legs, smirking at her.

"Oh God, yes…"

"Touch yourself, Clarice, with my hand. Gently now, stroking. Use your fingers. Do you feel me?"

"Yes, Hannibal. Oh my God…"

"Gently, with your thumb. Imagine my tongue, Clarice."

Hannibal was rewarded by a wavered, high-pitched moan. Clarice continued to attend to herself as per his instructions.

"I'm pressing with my palm. Stay with me. Remember, Clarice, take it in stages." Hannibal wiped the perspiration from his brow, concentrating on her shallow breaths, his head swimming at the anticipation of her impending orgasm.

_Clarice, you are magnificent._

"Do you envision me, Clarice; feel me, touching you. My hands are there. I am there, with you. I'm inside you now."

"I do… yes, Hannibal, yes."

"Moving faster, in time with your hips. Your breath is coming faster, too. Do you feel me, inside of you?"

"Oh, _yes!_"

Clarice buckled against her hand - his hand. An entirely new sensation washed over her, and with it, a sense of accomplishment.

"You're so very close, Clarice. Feel me, stroking you from inside."

The sheets clung to her form, slick with sweat. Her flesh burned. Her grip around the phone was like that of a vice.

"Come for me, Clarice."

Blinded, overwhelmed by passion, she screamed his name, loudly.

Once the haze had more or less allowed her visions to return, she smiled proudly and could almost hear Hannibal smile in return.

The conversation continued for no longer that twenty minutes, Clarice spent as a result of the evenings exertions.

She placed the phone back on the receiver. Sleep found her in minutes and she fell into a dreamless slumber with a smile on her face for the first time since he had gone away.

Doctor Lecter's pride was evident in his smile and his arousal, from the bulge in his trousers. He too fell asleep a content man, his arm draped across a lifeless pile of pillows which, agreeably, were a poor substitute for his love, Clarice.

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><p><strong>I REGRET NOTHING. Leave a review and tell me what you think! If you need me, I'll be bathing in Holy water :P<strong>

**-Taylor**


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